The SecretKeeper
by Fires of Mordor
Summary: A new crew member, a mysterious signal, and a bounty hunter bent on killing River.


"Son of a bitch," Matt muttered as he charged around a corner

"Son of a bitch," Matt muttered as he charged around a corner. Laser bolts streaked down the hallway behind him. The Messenger of the Citadel of Sages was in deep trouble, and he knew it. Half a dozen Syndicate agents were behind him, lasers blazing, and he could only take one shot before it was Game Over for him.

"Son of a bitch," Matt growled as he skidded around another corner, a hail of laser fire lancing through the air just behind him. At the end of the hallway the Messenger was charging down, there was a teleporter. Matt had no clue where it would lead, but didn't see much of a choice. With a thought, he let a throwing dagger from his enchanted bracer drop into his hand. With a quick flick of his wrist, he hurled the dagger into the teleporter's control panel. The machine hummed and flickered to life, presenting Matt with a glowing escape route.

"Shadow," the Messenger called, "I'm bugging out via teleporter. Six agents are hot on my tail, and dealing with strangers in the usual manner. Sorry to leave so soon, but—son of a bitch!" Laser fire scorched the wall next to Matt and he put on a burst of speed, diving through the portal and out of the firefight…

…and directly into another. Bullets whizzed over Matt's head as he crouched on the steel floor of—wherever the hell he was. He turned to see several humanoid creatures charging in his general direction. They were hideous, with cuts and piercings all over their bodies. A few of them wielded guns, but most had melee weapons in hand.

Matt flicked a throwing dagger into the throat of one of the monsters. It fell to the floor, shrieking as it clutched at its bleeding neck. Matt drew his katar, short blades with crosswise handles in between two solid bars that ran on either side of the Messenger's fists, with the blades just above his knuckles.

Matt crossed his katar over his head, blocking a downward chop as he rose to his feet. The Messenger drew the blades back and plunged them into the monster's ribs. He snapped his head forward, sending the creature stumbling back and to the ground. Matt swore as he turned, blocking a slash with an arm; the monsters had gotten on both sides of him.

"Who the hell is that?" the Messenger heard a gruff voice shout as he plunged his free blade into the monster's stomach, pushing it up and under its ribs.

"I don't know," another voice said, higher, smoother, and slightly calmer than the first, "but he's killing reavers." Matt turned, pulling his blade free of the reaver's ribs and spun, cutting out with both hands, drawing two bright red gashes across a charging monster's throat. The Messenger dropped his shoulder and darted forward, slamming into the reaver and driving it back.

"The enemy of our enemy…" a third voice, feminine and totally calm, said. A shot was fired, and a reaver about to slice Matt's stomach open fell to the ground with a neat hole in its head.

Matt turned, throwing his hips back as a reaver with a bloody axe chopped out for his stomach. The Messenger turned, putting his back towards the reaver as it brought its axe over in a two-handed chop at his skull. Matt snapped his right arm out, smashing the monster in the throat with his arm guard. The reaver dropped its axe and stumbled back, choking. With a quick, efficient punch, Matt put his katar through its temple.

Purely on instinct, Matt put his left hand up behind his head. A blade cracked into the guard. Matt turned, punching out with his right-hand blade, but the reaver snapped its sword down just in time, throwing the strike wide. Matt dropped his left-hand katar and grabbed the reaver's wrist. He turned, wrapping his right arm around the monster's shoulder and letting out a roar as he bent over, sending the reaver flying over his shoulder and crashing to the ground. The Messenger tore the blade out of the monster's hand and plunged it through its eye.

Matt dove, catching his other katar as he rolled, barely avoiding being cut to ribbons by a wicked-looking spear. Three gunshots brought the reaver down as Matt turned. There was only one reaver remaining, crouched in the doorway at the other end of the room. Matt sheathed his katar and flung a dagger at the monster.

The reaver gave the Messenger a split-lipped grin as the dagger bounced off of the armor around its neck. It fired its weapon, a grenade launcher. Matt heard a flurry of swearing from behind him as the deadly projectile hurtled towards them. Time seemed to slow to the Messenger as the grenade came closer and closer to him. With a roar of defiance, he kicked the grenade into a side hallway leading out of the large room. Seconds later, a blaze of orange flame burst from the hall.

The reaver sneered, standing. It tossed its grenade launcher aside, pulling a bastard sword from its back and putting the facemask on its battle-scarred helmet down. The three behind Matt fired as the reaver approached, but the bullets bounced harmlessly off of the monster's armor.

"They come in armor?" the second voice protested.

Matt raised a hand, blocking out the sounds from behind him. The air around him began to ripple and wave. The Messenger locked his focus on the armored reaver's chest. He began to shake, every muscle in his body tensing as he gathered up all the energy he could find. His face locked into a mask of grim determination. The reaver approached slowly, spinning its sword in its hands as bullets glanced off of its armor, sending tiny showers of sparks flying every which way. The monster raised its sword, ready to cleave Matt clean in two.

Matt pushed his hand forward, spreading his fingers and putting his palm towards the reaver. There was a great roar of sound, and a blinding flash as a bolt of lightning shot from the Messenger's hand, crashing into the reaver's chest and sending it back several steps. It looked dumbly down at the smoking hole in its torso, dropping its sword and tripping over it, falling to a heap on the ground.

Matt closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His body trembled with exhaustion. His hand slowly floated back down to his side. The Messenger stood, wavering, for a moment before slumping forward and falling to the blood-streaked floor.

"Well, I'll be damned," he heard the second voice say. He didn't hear the rest of the phrase before he lost consciousness.

Matt woke up lying on his back. He slowly and calmly took a mental inventory. He wasn't wearing a shirt under the thin blanket that covered him. His weapons were gone, as were his boots. He wasn't injured, but he felt the dull ache in his chest that was the consequence of his overextension of magical power. The Messenger opened his eyes.

A man turned to look at him, syringe in hand. He was young and handsome, with light brown hair and alert, intelligent eyes. He was trim and proper, dressed in neat, clean clothes. His posture was impeccable, even as he sat in the uncomfortable-looking stool next to the bed.

"You're awake," he said, smiling slightly, "that's good. My name is Simon; I'm this ship's medic. Just so you know, you're perfectly fine, except for the fact that you apparently shot a lightning bolt out of your hand and then collapsed after having charged into a room full of reavers." Matt swallowed, trying to get the dryness out of his throat before he spoke. Another man walked into the infirmary. The doctor nodded to him in greeting, standing and leaving the room, and shutting the doors behind him.

The newcomer was as scruffy as Simon had been tidy. His dark hair didn't seem to be in any kind of order, excepting that it was on the man's head. The sleeves of his wrinkled shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and his hands and forearms were covered in scars. He looked like he may not have shaved in a few days. The man was built for work, just like the well-used pistol that hung at his hip.

"Hi, there," the man said cheerfully. Matt recognized the voice; the second speaker from the fight. "My name's Mal, Mal Reynolds, I'm captain of this ship, the _Serenity_. What's your name, kid?"

"Salazar Escoria," Matt replied, using the pseudonym he had received when he joined the Citadel Guard.

"Well, Sal, you don't mind if I call you Sal?" Without waiting for an answer, the captain continued, "You could make a good number of pretty rhymes with that, I reckon. Sal and Mal." The captain gave a single chuckle, smiling slightly. "But back to business: I owe you a good many thanks; you dug us out of a bad situation back planetside. But I think you'll understand my taking your weapons away; can't be too careful. It's a dangerous galaxy. Very nice weapons; very sharp, very pointy, and that bracer of yours, the one with the knives, I find quite fascinating. But enough of that.

"First question: how exactly does one such as you simply appear in a room full of reavers aiming to kill me and my crew?"

"I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you," Sal replied hesitantly. Mal chuckled.

"Oh, I'm an accepting sort of guy," he said, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against a counter, "Humor me, see what I'll believe." Sal took in a deep breath.

"Okay," he said, "I was being chased by six Syndicate agents armed with laser blasters and hell-bent on making sure I didn't escape their sights alive. I jumped through a teleportation machine and right into your squabble." There was a pause.

"Okay," Mal said, "That may stretch my imagination a mite, but I've heard of stranger things, I suppose. I've never heard a fight with reavers called a 'squabble' though, so I'm gonna guess you ain't from this neck of the woods."

"You've no idea," Sal replied. Mal chuckled again.

"I suppose I don't," he admitted, "which brings me to question number two. How exactly does one fire what appeared to be a great big bolt of lightning from one's palm?" It was Sal's turn to chuckle.

"Well," he explained, "first, you have to go slightly insane. Then it's just a matter of aiming and firing. Takes a lot out of you, though—in case you hadn't noticed."

"I imagine shooting lightning could do that to a man," Mal chuckled, "but, seeing as I've yet to go insane, I'll take your word for it."

"Listen," Sal said, "I know I've just kind of walked onto your ship in a manner totally out of the realm of rationality, and that I've probably got you and your crew a little jumpy. I've got a little money; I'll pay you for passage to wherever you're stopping next and—" Mal chuckled, raising a hand to cut the Messenger off.

"It seems to me," he said, "that you've got a place issue; that being you haven't got one to go to." The captain stood, unfolding his arms and beginning to talk with his hands as he paced in front of Sal. "You've also got a few things that I find useful in a person: you're a good hand in a fight, you've got a cool head, a quick wit, and a will to live a long and healthy life. You're funny, and, to top it all off, you've got an uncanny ability to fling forces of nature about in a tight spot. I could find a use for kid like you." Mal leaned back against the door of the infirmary.

"Tell you what, I'll set you up with a place to sleep, some food to eat, and welcome spot on my crew. In return, you'll help with duties around the ship, cleaning and the like, and work with us as we try and make our way in this crazy, messed-up little galaxy of mine. You stay as long as you like, which I'll take the liberty of assuming is until you find a way back to wherever your home may be. Sound like a deal?" Sal grinned.

"It does indeed," he said. Mal clapped his hands together with finality.

"It's settled, then," the captain said cheerfully, "Welcome to the _Serenity_, Sal." Mal put out his hand. Sal shook it. The captain opened the door to the infirmary, his boots clicking down the ramp.

"I'll be back in a minute," he called over his shoulder, "Don't you run away to anywhere, now." Sal laughed and shook his head, running a hand through his hair. Simon walked back into the room, going right back to work. He pulled down the blanket and took the syringe.

"Just an immunization shot," the doctor said as he put the needle into Matt's arm, "Nothing dangerous." He threw the syringe away and went to the counter, putting a roll of bandages back in its place.

"With all the blood you were covered with," the doctor said, "I thought you would be injured."

"No," Sal replied, "I'm just good at making things bleed."

"Indeed," Simon said, sounding a little perturbed.

"Sorry," Sal said, "Morbid sense of humor."

"I noticed."

"I hear we've a new shipmate," a smooth voice remarked from the doorway. Simon turned to look at the newcomer, a woman of extraordinary beauty. She had dark, curly hair that spilled over her shoulders, dark eyes with long, dark eyelashes, and full, smiling lips. There was an exotic allure about her full figure that had Sal forcing himself to remember that he had a girlfriend.

"Inara," Simon greeted cordially. The woman nodded to him, then turned to Sal.

"You must be Salazar," she said sweetly. Sal nodded.

"Forgive me if I don't bow," he said, "But I'm in a hospital bed at the moment." Inara laughed, a soothing, melodic sound that had Sal well-at-ease almost instantly.

"Very brave thing you did," a low, sonorous voice said, "Fighting against reavers in close combat." An old, black-skinned man with a mass of tied-back grey hair walked into the room. There was a lively sparkle in his dark eyes despite his obvious age. Sal shrugged.

"Not the most polite of welcoming parties," he admitted, "but I've met worse." That brought an uncomfortable silence to the room. Luckily, Mal broke it.

"What's this?" he asked, "Somebody start a party without me?" He tossed a small bundle to Sal; his cleaned shirt and weapons. The Messenger rolled off of the hospital bed, paused for a moment as his vision whited out, then put his shirt on. He put on his bracer next, then slipped his katar into their sheaths. He slipped on his boots, sitting by the foot of the bed, and slipped a dagger into the sheath there.

"Care for the nickel tour?" Mal asked. Sal shrugged.

"Don't see why not," the boy replied.

"In case names haven't been mentioned," the captain said, "This is our medic, Simon, our ship's whore, Inara, and our resident preacher, Shepherd Book." Mal waved a hand towards each of the people in the infirmary as he spoke. Inara shot the captain a sour look at the word 'whore', and the other two men pointedly looked away, but otherwise the introductions were returned with pleasant expressions. Mal waved a hand as he left, inviting Sal to follow him.

"This is the hold," Mal said, indicating a huge room filled with boxes, "where we keep our cargo and a lot of other things, for that matter. You'll probably be working in here a lot, so get used to the stairs; they can be a bit of a hassle sometimes." The two moved on.

"This is the kitchen. Meals are held regularly; it's not hard to miss 'em. Smell of food travels pretty quick through the ship." The captain leaned towards Sal conspiratorially, "Just make sure you get here before Jayne does. Else there might not be anything left when you do." A brawny man with dark, short-cropped hair and suspicious eyes walked into the kitchen, turning a knife over in his hands. He glanced at the two, then moved towards the food.

"Speak of the devil," Mal said, "This is Jayne. He's our muscle 'round here." Lowering his voice, the captain continued. "Normally I'd tell you not to piss him off, but between you and me, I think you can take him." Sal bit back a laugh as a man's voice came up over the speakers.

"Mal, I think you'll want a look at this." Mal frowned.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, "I'm gonna go see what my pilot needs me for." Sal nodded and took a seat at the table. Jayne, peeling an apple with his knife, sat across from him.

"You're a pretty good fighter, kid," he said. Sal recognized his voice instantly; the first speaker from the fight.

"Could say that," the Messenger said.

"That lightning trick is pretty cool, too." Sal shrugged.

"If a bit draining." Jayne glanced around, as if someone might be listening in, and leaned close to Sal's face.

"Think you could teach me?" he asked. Sal laughed.

"I am no more qualified to teach you how to fling lightning around," the Messenger said, "Than I am to teach a baboon to peel an apple."

"Somebody must be qualified, then," a calm voice said, the woman from the fight, "Probably the same one who taught Jayne to peel an apple." Sal bit back a laugh as Jayne threw a sour look to the dark-skinned woman that was walking into the kitchen. She walked with total confidence, as if anything that stood in her way would be the wiser, and the healthier, to get out of it. She flashed a smile at Sal.

"I'm Zoe," she said, "Ship's first mate. You're…?"

"Sal," the Messenger said, "Name's Sal. Salazar, technically."

"I like that," Zoe said, "Salazar. Has a nice ring to it."

"I figure any name belonging to a man that can throw lightning from his hand has a nice ring to it," Mal said, striding back into the kitchen, "Now go tend to your husband. He's trying to get us all killed again."

"What's he done this time?" Zoe asked the air as she walked towards the bridge.

"I'm thinking you don't want to take a look outside right now," Mal said, "and thus we go back to the engine room." The two passed by a row of labeled doors and hatches.

"These are the bunks," Mal said, "We're a tad full at the moment, but we'll figure something out for you. If all else fails, you'll take up residence in the empty shuttle. And here's the engine room." Sal stared in wonder at the humming engine as it turned on its casters.

"One thing about here," Mal said, "You don't go in here unless me, Kaylee, or Zoe when she's in charge, tells you so. Same with the bridge, unless me, Zoe, or Wash calls you up there, you stay out. Got that?"

"Yes, sir," Sal said, "but who are Kaylee and Wash?"

"I'm Kaylee," a light voice said. The two turned to see a pretty, young woman bounce into the engine room. She had light brown hair that bounced around her shoulders and sparkling hazel eyes. She wore a flowery shirt and tan overalls. She flashed a smile at Sal.

"You must be Sal," she said, "Pleased to meet you." Sal smiled and took the hand she offered him.

"Somethin' up, Cap'n?" the mechanic asked.

"Nope," Mal replied, "Just showing Sal around."

"Mal," the pilot's voice sounded over the PA. Mal swore under his breath.

"What is it, Wash?" he asked.

"We've got issues," Wash replied.

"Beyond you having flown us into an asteroid field?" Mal asked, incredulous.

"There's someone in here with us," Wash replied, "Can't tell who, but I think you should be up here, just in case." Mal swore some more in Chinese and stalked off towards the bridge.

"You two stay there," he called over his shoulder, "I won't be but a minute." There was a moment of silence as Sal looked around.

"So," Kaylee said, "Do you like it?"

"It's incredible," Sal breathed, "It's like the ship has a heart, a life of its own." Kaylee grinned.

"Well, that's 'cause she does," the mechanic said, patting the engine, "That's my _Serenity_." The ship gave a violent jerk. Sal and Kaylee stumbled, leaning against the walls. Kaylee gave a reassuring smile. "Yep," she said, "that's my girl." There was a pleasant silence.

"So…" Kaylee started, "Cap'n said you can—"

"Shoot lightning from my palm?" Sal guessed. Kaylee smiled and nodded, her eyes glinting.

"So how do you do something like that?" she asked. Sal chuckled.

"Well, first," he said, "you have to go slightly—"

"Insane?" a quiet voice finished. Sal turned to see a slight girl with long, brown hair. She wore loose, almost ill-fitting clothes. She cocked her head as they locked eyes.

"Yeah," Sal said, a bit confused. The girl looked past him, smiling at Kaylee.

"I had to guess," she said, "He's slippery, like a wet stone. Dark. Can't see anything past the skin. Like a book you can't open; pages are all there but you can't see the words." Sal raised an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder at Kaylee.

"Sal," the mechanic said, a little hesitantly, "this is River. She's Simon's little sister." Sal turned back to River, offering a hand. River looked down at it.

"What's that?" she asked. Sal grinned.

"It's a hand," the Messenger said, "Traditionally, one offered a hand to someone they met to show that they had no weapon in it. Eventually, it became a standard form of greeting." River smiled, and shook his hand.

"River?" Simon's voice called from the hallway, "River, where'd you—?" Simon skidded into view. He heaved a sigh of relief, putting a hand on River's shoulder. The girl spun, smiling up at her brother.

"He dances," she said happily, bouncing down the hall. Simon looked up at Sal curiously, then turned as his sister pulled him away. Sal leaned back against the wall, a curious expression on his face.

"What is it?" Kaylee asked, a twinkle in her eye.

"She's a mind reader," Sal said. Kaylee looked at him.

"How'd you know?" she asked, "I mean, that's only what Simon thinks, but—are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Sal said, "I'm trained to resist psychic intrusions. She said I'm slippery, dark. She was trying to read me. Caught me with my defenses down, too."

"What were you thinking?" Kaylee asked.

"I was wondering if she danced," the Messenger said, grinning. The smile disappeared as the ship shook again. The engine sparked, and Kaylee rushed over to the area of concern.

"Kaylee!" Mal shouted over the intercom.

"Nice and shiny, Cap'n," Kaylee responded, "She'll hold up fine!"

"Kaylee, shut 'er down!" Mal interrupted.

"What?"

"Shut the engine down. Sooner rather than later." Kaylee flipped a large switch. The engine stopped turning, groaning as it powered down. The lights of the ship dimmed.

"What's going on?" Kaylee asked. There was no response.

"Let's get anyone with a weapon down to the hold," Wash said, "Captain's orders."

"Guess that's me," Sal said, "See you later." Just to himself, he muttered, "I hope."

"Bye," Kaylee said, a bit nervously, "Good luck!"


End file.
